Gravity Rising (The Parallel Multiverse Book 2) Page 15

  “Sounds like somebody was having a bad day,” Maggie commented.

  “Right,” Seb said. “It started in Fluffy’s office. Then, when they walked out, Fluffy followed him to his office. And, it got louder from there. People were sticking their heads into the hallway to see what was going on. The dean told Fluffy that if he had a problem with the way the dean was running things, he was perfectly free to go find another college. It got really quiet after that.”

  Larry pursed his lips and loosed a low whistle. “That would beat all. I get a stipend again, and my doctoral advisor gets the heave-ho.”

  “I was talking to Archie Larch about it,” Seb said. “You know Archie has been around forever. He said that Fluffy and dean have a big fight about once every three or four years and not to worry about it.”

  “I think I’d worry about it,” Larry said.

  “Well, me, too. But, things seemed back on an even keel the next day. Fluffy and the dean were joking with each other. So, I’d guess things kind of blew over.”

  “What about the council allocation?” Maggie asked.

  “It’s been a bad year,” Seb replied. “Fishing harvests are off, and several manufactories have closed. Council revenue is down.”

  “I suppose they could raise taxes to offset the problem,” Maggie said.

  “We speculated that the council would do just that,” Seb commented, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “But, a bunch of the townspeople crashed the council meeting and screamed bloody murder about it.”

  “So, no new taxes,” Maggie said.

  “And you two have been all over the continent,” their driver said, changing the subject. “Down the east coast to the Carolinas and after that the Midwest.”

  “The Midwest is now called The Palatinate,” Larry said. “They seem to have put together a working confederation or something.”

  “Is that so?” Seb asked. “Bunch of farmers?”

  “They’ve got a lot of money,” Maggie said.

  “And, they’re robbing the farmers.”

  “We haven’t figured that out yet,” Larry said. “But I did get a new stipend out of them.”

  “That’s the good news, then,” Seb said. “That’ll make Fuzzy happy, not to mention the dean.”

  “You’re taking a different route,” Maggie said.

  “Yeah. One of the big towers fell down last week. It is blocking several streets, and just made a mess of things.”

  “Are they trying to clean up the debris?” she asked.

  Seb shook his head. “What do you think? They probably won’t clear a street until all the routes to the airport are blocked. No money.”

  “So what else is new?” Larry said, the edge of sarcasm evident in his voice. “This place hasn’t had enough money for as long as I can remember.”

  “It’s like that everywhere,” Seb said. “The whole world is crumbling, and nobody seems to be able to do anything about it.”

  Maggie looked at Larry but said nothing further. The rest of the ride was graced by Seb’s nonstop monologue on the problems facing the world in general, and Cambridge in particular. After recharging the Compressed Natural Gas tanks in Seb’s car, Larry was relieved to arrive back at Maseeh Hall. The first thing he did was to knock on Mrs. Willow’s door.

  “What?” The intensity of the old lady’s greeting nearly made him step back.

  “I need to catch up on my rent,” Larry said. “Here’s the money.”

  “And it’s about time, too,” she said. “I suppose you expect your old apartment, as well.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  She placed her hands on her prodigious hips. “I expect you will find everything in its place, young Mister Berthold.”

  “Uh, thanks, Mrs. Willow.”

  “Don’t thank me. Nobody came looking for a flat, and I didn’t have time to pitch your detritus out into the snow.”

  “Right.”

  Larry stood there not quite sure what to say next. She solved the problem by slamming the door in his face.

  “I’d say we were home,” Maggie said as she stepped next to him.

  “Nothing much has changed,” Larry grumped.

  “Cheer up. Tomorrow you get to go humor Fluffy.”

  “At least he has usually been civil.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Had he been gone only two weeks? It seemed like there had been an entire turn of seasons since Seb had taken them to the train station. Larry made his way along the beaten path in the snow from Maseeh Hall to the MIT building. He looked up at the lettering above the columns as he entered the building. The centuries had sanded the facade of the building to where the words were no longer recognizable. It was now simply the MIT building.

  He picked his way up the stairs carefully. He had learned, painfully, the previous winter that losing one’s footing in the snow and ice resulted in a bumpy ride to the bottom. The scorn came from other students who had not experienced the same thing so far. The institute never bothered shoveling the snow, since the next storm would pile things up again, usually within a couple of days.

  Larry shivered as he walked between the columns and to the doors, remembering his sense of helplessness when he had been locked out of the building on that cold night. He pulled open the heavy, wooden door, and scurried inside. It was not a lot warmer in the building, although it was out of the wind and snow. A small gas heater provided an oasis of warmth, and several of the townspeople huddled around it to warm up before again plunging into the frozen wastes outside.

  He walked down the long, main hallway, past the main dome and eventually ended up in the physics department. He tapped on Pournelle’s door and heard the bellowed Enter command. He opened the door and walked in.

  “Please get the door closed,” the florid-faced man with the lamb chop sideburns called. “There’s little enough heat in here.”

  “Uh, sorry,” Larry said.

  “No matter. Just have a seat.”

  Pournelle turned around and busied himself with the teapot, which sat on a Bunsen burner behind his desk. He poured the hot water through a strainer to produce a weak tea. He turned back around and set the cup in front of him. He hadn’t removed his coat, and a muffler was wrapped around his neck. He wore a pair of gloves with the fingers cut off, so he could manipulate his keyboard.

  “Well, now, Mr. Berthold. So good of you to finally come to see me.”

  “It’s eight o’clock in the morning, Dr. Pournelle. I couldn’t have come much earlier.”

  “The dean told me you showed up at five o’clock yesterday. You might have come over.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” Larry said. He was getting annoyed with the professor.

  “Eh, no matter, I suppose,” Pournelle said. “I understand you have a new stipend to support you.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m ready to get back to work.”

  “Are you planning to continue your current course of study?” the professor asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Please don’t make me pull it out of you, Mr. Berthold. Even though you have a new stipend, I am required to make regular reports to your patron.”

  “Sorry, Sir. I am going to be working on practical applications for Westerly and Clenèt’s work. My patron suggested that I finish up my doctorate and I could work on the math in my spare time.”

  “So, he doesn’t think you can resolve the math issues?” Pournelle asked.

  “He didn’t say that….”

  “But that is what he probably thinks,” Pournelle said, interrupting him. “Listen, Mr. Berthold, I am happy to have you back. I think you can really contribute to this place. Lord knows we need it. Practical applications will generate licensing revenue, which the school desperately needs. And why the funny look?”

  “I also need to go see the dean,” Larry said. He hesitated.

  “And what do you not want to tell me?”

  “My patron has insisted on certain terms for his
support that conflict with my agreement with the school.”

  “Which means we won’t see any income from you, I suppose,” Pournelle said with a sigh. “Lawrence, that is not how one goes about building a good reputation in the scientific community.”

  “My patron asked that I not share the details, except with the dean.”

  “Oh, go on. Get out of here.” The disgust was plain in Pournelle’s voice. “It’s always something with you, isn’t it? Now, go.”

  Larry got.

  Maggie stood in the hallway when he fled from Pournelle’s office.

  “What makes me think that did not go well?” she asked.

  “He found out about the conditions on my stipend.”

  “And why did you tell him about that?” she asked.

  “He figured it out when I told him I needed to also go see the dean,” Larry said. “I sometimes think Fluffy can read minds.”

  “He can when people are as transparent as you, Larry.”

  “Oh, thank you, very much,” he groused. “I always appreciate my friends.”

  She grabbed his arm, with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll walk with you. You have few enough friends.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  They retraced Larry’s steps back down the long hallway to the center where the dome dominated and the administrative offices resided. The dean’s door was closed. There was no money for a secretary, even for the head of the school. The unspoken, but well-known rule was that if the door was open, the dean would accept impromptu meetings. If it was closed, he was busy. While the rule was not written anywhere, it was inviolable. Bad things happened to either students or faculty who trespassed the dean’s prerogatives.

  Larry and Maggie looked at each other and then took a seat outside the office. If one wanted to see the dean, and the dean was busy, one waited. The wait was about fifteen minutes. The door opened and the dean quietly slipped out. Chester Rathgille was a large man, big-boned, but lean. He sported a close-cropped beard and a shaved head.

  “Come in, Lawrence,” he said in his soft voice. “Maggie, you are welcome, too.”

  Maggie stood up. “I’ll just be on my way, Sir. It’s Larry you need to talk to.”

  “Right. Off you go, then.”

  He ushered Larry into his office and eased the door shut. It latched with a pronounced snick.

  “Please, have a seat,” Rathgille said as he walked behind his desk and slid into the chair. “I received the message from your patron. I must say, it gave me pause.”

  “He was very clear in his instructions to me,” Larry stammered. “I hope it does not cause a problem.”

  “Any problems it causes will be in that it is a different approach than to which we are accustomed. Typically, we eschew up-front payments with the hope that we will receive long-term licensing revenues. Your Mister Winkleman is offering a very generous payment in return for all of the intellectual property.”

  “I understand this is not the way things are usually done...”

  Rathgille held up a hand. “Please, do not misunderstand me. I shall recommend to the board that they accept the offer immediately. To be honest, our licensing revenues are no longer significant. Did your patron share with you the contents of the message?”

  “He did,” Larry replied.

  “Then you are aware that he plans further donations to the school.”

  “Yes, Sir. He believes research institutions are important to humanity.”

  Rathgille pondered for a few moments before speaking. “It is also unusual that he has committed to offering you a position at a college in the… the Palatinate. We were, of course, aware of the unification of the Midwest. This represents a marvelous opportunity for you. To be honest, Lawrence, by taking this position, we are delighted that we will have a friend in higher education in the Palatinate.”

  “Very good, Sir,” Larry said. He sat there, not knowing what else to say.

  “The bursar has informed me that your accounts are up to date, now,” Rathgille continued, “and so there is no impediment to you picking up your work, again. Do you see any problems in working with Dr. Pournelle?”

  “I do not. Other than he seems to be very curious about my financial arrangements, Sir.”

  “Do not let that concern you. I will have a word with Dr. Pournelle and tell him what he needs to know.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Rathgille stood up. “I believe that covers everything, Lawrence. If I may be of any assistance in the future, please come to see me.”

  “Of course, Sir. Thank you.”

  Larry floated back down the hall, as though in a dream. He did not expect things to work out so smoothly. When he arrived in his small office, Maggie was already there. She had started the small gas heater and was brewing a pot of tea. Wind-driven snow fluttered against the window as though dozens of tiny birds were trying to get in.

  “What word, Larry?” she asked.

  “Arthur’s contribution made a big impression,” he replied. “He really knew how to wax the sled runners.”

  She poured a cup of tea for him. “Here, get on the outside of this. I think the heat has been off in here since we left. It’s miserable. My office is the same way.”

  “It’s unfortunate how warm the buildings in Indianapolis were,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It makes me wish we were back there.”

  “Then we need to get busy. Arthur is looking for something from his investment, and you really don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “I know.”

  In the late afternoon, Larry struggled through the snow to the small grocery and made his way back to Maseeh Hall carrying two large bags. Maggie came up to his flat and dug into the contents of the groceries to cook a meal for the two of them. They sat around the small table in the dim light and shared their dinner.

  “This is very good, Mags,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Oh, you know, a little of this and a little of that. It’s not much really.”

  “I had a letter from my mother,” he said. “She is thrilled about our new patron. She wondered why we didn’t get married.”

  “Oh, Larry,” Maggie said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s get our doctoral work out of the way before we talk about that. I won’t say yes, and I won’t say no. But, the time is not yet right.”

  He reached up and touched where she had kissed him. She had never shown any kind of affection like that before. He suddenly felt much better about the future.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Money talks.”

  Maggie stood next to Larry in the Physics Department Gravitation Lab at MIT. It was at the end of a long day, and she was ready to go back to Maseeh Hall.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Money talks,” Larry said. “Since I have a new patron, who also made a contribution to the school, I suddenly have all the time in the lab I need. Before now, it was like pulling teeth to schedule lab time. Fluffy even scheduled me during the daytime. I don’t have to pull the midnight shift anymore.”

  “That’s good news, then,” she responded.

  “Sure is. This place is spooky at night.”

  “Can’t be any worse than having Mrs. Willow slipping up on you in Maseeh Hall.”

  “True,” he conceded. “Still, it’s nice to be able to go home in the evening.”

  “Not only that,” she immediately said, “but, it’s your turn to cook.”

  “That’s fine. I know you love my cooking.”

  She made gagging motions and he laughed.

  “Let me shut down this equipment and then we can go. Oh, and I need to turn off the gas heater in my office.”

  “Already done,” she said.

  Once outside the lab, Larry tugged on the door to make sure it was latched and locked. While the corridors of the building were considered public, Fluffy Pournelle was manic about keeping the labs locked. A former doct
oral student had become former when he left the chem lab unlocked and someone made off with a portable computer.

  “And how was your day?” Larry asked.

  “Your comment about access was interesting,” she said. “I seem to be able to find a lot more data to support my research, now.”

  “Access to more repositories?”

  “There is that. But, my searches seem to return a lot more results. I’m wondering if I just imagine it, or what.”

  Larry scratched his head as they walked along. “I don’t even know how I would find out something like that.”

  “Exactly. But, I’ve been thinking about it. I’m going to try running some of my climate heuristics against the search terms tonight and see if that points to anything.”

  “That’s a good idea. Maybe I can help you.”

  “I would like that,” she said.

  They stepped outside into the late afternoon twilight. Maggie hissed at the cold temperatures.

  “It just seems to get colder each year,” she commented.

  “Is that Maggie complaining, or do you have data to prove that?” Larry asked.

  “Both. The temperatures are hard to measure since the worldwide network of weather stations is pretty much gone. But, the data I have shows the average temperatures have declined by several degrees over the past couple hundred years. And I’m cold,” she laughed.

  “And it’ll be even colder after the winter break,” he said. “I wonder how low the temps can go.”

  “I guess we will find out, sooner or later.”

  They worked their way down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Fortunately, it had not warmed up enough to pack the snow into ice. Maggie looked around her.

  “You know, I keep thinking about how quickly the people in Indianapolis dug themselves out after each storm. They didn’t seem to even think about it.”

  “Yes, but Urbana was not that neat,” Larry commented.

  “But, remember Arthur was not happy about it. Didn’t he say he was going to do something about it?”

  “True,” he admitted. “I wonder if we shoveled part of the walk after a snow, that other people would get the idea and pitch in.”